Philosophy in the Boredroom

If you fear I’m Jackin’ your trade roughly,
Sirs, rest assured I’ve a Master’s in none.
How Shame—unnamed, un-thought—spun corruptly,

Interrupts the fight against Gravity.
I’m a Kod(i)ak who eats men, so run
If you fear I’m Jackin’ your trade roughly.

’Shoot-you-down clearer-than-crystal, sharply;
Perception’s partly how I hotly stun—
“No Shame”—inflamed, unsought—swung corruptly,

Philosoph(lies) shade-marked Raging Ugly™.
People used and things loved will revolt, sons,
If you fear I’m Jackin’ your trade roughly.

What Age amplifies, Youth dims wordlessly;
Oppression will be stripped of its -isms
Now ’Fame—un-blamed, un-bought—won corruptly,

Has me to free its victims unjustly
Imprisoned by men like your Selves, chairmen.
If you fear I’m Jackin’ your trade roughly,
Know Shame—un-pained, un-taught—guns-down subtly.